Behind Closed Doors
by skrewtkeeper
Summary: What do teachers and staff do after-hours anyway? Follow Albus & Minerva to find out... MMAD


Title: Behind Closed Doors  
Pairing: MM/AD (because they're the only pair that matters... )  
Summary: What do teachers and staff do after-hours anyway? Follow Albus & Minerva to find out...  
Rating: PG-13 (this is not a happy story...)

a/n: I really love the way this one turned out... Please R & R!

Behind closed doors, within the well-worn castle, blanketed beneath a star-strewn sky, students resided. Students working and students sleeping. Students weeping and students creeping; alone with only the shadows of the night as their companions. The pressures that bore upon them seemed to be too much for some, yet others were not bothered, as the night grew long. Yet they did not know what happened inside a world in which they never roamed. A possibility that another world existed, _their_ world, was under consideration in the minds of the students. It was a well-known fact that teachers had lives too! _Their_ world coexisted along the students' own, though they primarily did not collide as often as one thought. Behind closed doors was where they did not see what commenced in the lives of teachers and staff alike.

Teachers graded papers. A tedious act to perform, but an act that was necessary for the growing minds of children for the instruction they so desperately needed. The teachers and professors worked at a slower and more seduced pace than the students did, for students always _forgot_ things and left everything to the last moment. Professors taught, and always knew what was due when, for they set the dates, since they knew surprises were essential to fully harness the mind of a student. All professors seemed to be correcting, as the night drew slowly on, every second agonizingly creeping slower than an ant. All professors, perhaps, except one.

Behind another closed door, two professors sat, fully engaged in a tense game of chess in the corner of the Headmaster's office. He and his deputy were playing the game that never got old, no matter just how many times they had played it already that night. It was the Headmaster's fault for this. Whenever another game ended in his loss, just as it always and forever would, he did not want his deputy to leave his sight. Minerva was appealing in his eyes, and he was quite reluctant to let her go when the 'last game' that never was their last was over. Her eyes were there; watching his hands intently as he uncertainly moved his piece. Her eyes were of the color of fresh blades of grass, which was often how he classified the color of Minerva McGonagall's eyes. Her eyes furrowed in concentration, which often lit up at the oddest of times, stared unseeingly at the board. Her raven-black hair was no longer as black as it had been so many years ago. He had waited for her to 'grow up' but now her hair had streaks of gray, and nothing could convey to him that she was still too young for his advances. Crossing off countless years on a list, and the wait for all of the years crossed out had been agonizing. That list resided in his chamber, as it had the day he drew it up. The list of years was now old and frayed, tacked up to his wall with what Muggles called a "thumb-tack". It had many years ago had no more list of numbers to cross out, though Dumbledore had still waited, longing to give Minerva as much rope as she needed. Perhaps if she said nothing, she was happy. _"No news is good news,"_ he mused, staring at the peculiar crease of inquiry that lay between Minerva's eyebrows.

Her voice brought him back to the Earth again, though he could not process the words she spoke. Perhaps it was but a dream of curious indulgence. A dream in which he could stroke Minerva's hand and she would not retract it bitterly and actually allow Albus one, single, glorious moment of expressing the love he had for her. His eyes darted carefully to her lips, smacking rapidly together, as her voice grew higher and higher. Maybe she was upset about something, but Dumbledore, try as he might, could not let in one single word. He could trace her lips with his tongue with such accuracy; it was unbearable gazing at them. Pursed when angry, yet soft when she was happy. He could pick out any single one of her traits in a crowd due to the fact that he knew her so well; yet, could she do the same with him? She seemed to enjoy his company after all... could there be a slight chance of her loving him? Her laugh rang out, and Dumbledore joined in, having found just how silly his thoughts had sounded. His age was more than twice her own; how in the world could she fall for _him_?

Pointless conversation was all that spewed from her lips, but Dumbledore seemed interested, nodding his head every now and again, letting her speak as he mulled over the words, upholding his normal standards of a gentleman, just as Minerva expected him to do. His piercing blue eyes were alluring; calling her to them with the sky. A fierce battle raged inside Minerva for she could not say the words that would just put her world at risk for toppling at her feet. She would not risk her entire teaching career to tell Dumbledore what she thought about him. He was softer than that of her Animagi form's fur. He was considerate, and so wonderful to likes of all, including troublesome children. This is what drew her to him, even though she knew it was never to be. It would be just too perfect if he loved her back, just too easy if he had feelings for the likes of her, for they would have to back away from the possibility of staying together by magical means if calling of duty persisted anyway. A relationship such as that was completely out of the question, for she would not jeopardize the friendship that had been built between them all of these years. It was a friendship that Minerva cherished above all others, and though the words explaining all of this would not come to her lips, at least she could gaze at him and remember. Oh, gaze longingly at him forever as long as those strikingly blue eyes, which sparkled as brightly as the sun, allowed her to do so. It appeared that they forever would, for he did not object when his gaze latched into her gaze for a moment. He smiled when these instances occurred, and Minerva nearly fainted at each second. _"Oh why do I love him so much?"_ she wondered as Dumbledore's gaze returned to hers, but neither noticed, too wound up in thoughts of each other.

Seconds passed, and both had faraway looks planted upon their faces. What was once a thought had turned into something larger than any could have possibly imagined, for not only did their thoughts only remain on the other, but also scenes of love flashed through their minds. How could they deny such a strong thing now? They both seemed to sense something, though no words passed into speech, as they both, subtly stared in each other's eyes. Some may say that perhaps it was an impromptu staring contest, but _they_ did not see _her_ eyes, so fixated on his, nor did they see _his_ eyes, as full of love and concern, as they always were when he looked at her. They both sighed at the same time, but neither noticed. Being together behind closed doors is much more difficult than you would think.

A burst of fire and a swirling of smoke snapped them back rather rudely into reality. They both looked away, searching for the sound that had caused them both to jump. Dumbledore turned away, and Minerva was grateful. Such a treacherous act, and he ignored it! _Perhaps_ there was a chance of him loving her back!

"Ah, Fawkes has blown to bits," murmured Dumbledore thoughtfully. His voice was crackling as a fire lit upon wood. It was as though his voice had not have been used for the past year, though this was certainly not the case. His throat always tended to seize up when conversing with Minerva McGonagall. He found it difficult to abstain himself from gazing towards her gaze, so he held up a hand in front of his face as if to shield him from beholding such a wonderfully prohibited thing. Minerva also avoided his gaze, unbeknownst to Dumbledore of the same reason he himself shielded his face from her own.

Behind closed doors, love was sought, and love was found, but at a terrible price. For you see, neither said another word that night, and quickly shook hands without chorusing usual goodbyes. They knew what was, and they kept it a secret from one another. However, love shone forth from both pairs of eyes, fears enshrouded them and caused them to avoid uttering such incomprehensible truths. If he loved her, and she did not, to what price would everything fall? Their very friendship would carelessly wither away, after so many years of nourishment and reassurance that even if days were terrible, they still had a weekly night of chess to look forward to, a laugh to share, and another memory to cherish. No, that was not how either of them desired their lives to turn, so neither spoke of their treacherous feelings and thoughts. Behind closed doors, love was found, but love was not spoken of, for love was forbidden. Behind closed doors, no expression of that strong emotion was heard, nor seen, for you see, they were both afraid of the reactions from the other. You may ask how it could be so, that two best friends were frightened of saying three little words that summed everything up to one another. You may ask, many things, but this is where this blind love comes to a halt. A death of one, tears up another, for they were just friends, and not lovers as she wished, and he wished.


End file.
